


I'm invested in you, kid.

by kiwifeather



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Precious Peter Parker, Stabbing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony to the rescue, Whump, peter gets stabbed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:36:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwifeather/pseuds/kiwifeather
Summary: Peter gets stabbed on patrol and it's "no big deal" until it is. Tony Stark, though confusingly uncertain about where he falls in the kid's life, comes to his aid.(Just a hurt little spiderkid and a bumbling could-be-his-father-figure awkwardly trying to let each other know what they mean to each other without having to, you know, say it. Takes place somewhere between Homecoming and Infinity War, a.k.a the happy place)





	I'm invested in you, kid.

"Ooh-kay."

 

Peter looked down and took note of how rapidly the crimson stain on his suit was blossoming into something too large to ignore. He pressed down tentatively in a half-hearted attempt to staunch the flow, and drew in a sharp breath at the jab of red-hot pain accompanying his touch. He applied pressure nonetheless, and tried to slow his brain enough to evaluate the situation.

 

Okay. Deep breath.

 

This wasn't so bad. It's not the first time he's been stabbed, and definitely won't be the last. This particular instance he'd been in the process of webbing up two cat burglars, taunting them for being laughably bad at their jobs ( _"come on, guys, you knocked a vase off the window-sill. I heard it from a mile away, literally!"_ ) when a third dude had gotten the jump on him, plunging a rusty looking knife deep into his abdomen. He still managed to kick the crap outta the guy with the weapon lodged in his gut, and finished up by webbing all three offenders to a nearby lamppost. By that point he was feeling a bit woozy and decided he should probably turn in for the night.

 

So, he grabbed the hilt of the knife, wrenched it out with a gasp, and let it clatter to the ground.

 

Yeah, yeah, everyone says to never pull the blade out, but it's not like he could go swinging around with it sticking out of his body! What if the momentum dislodged it-- it could, like, cut up his intestines or something! He'd just web-sling home really fast and stitch up the cut himself, _easy-peasy._

 

 

 

 

 

So it wasn't his best call.

 

Which is how he ended up in a shadowy alley seven miles from May's apartment, leaning heavily against the backside of a dumpster with only a couple mangy rats for company and no idea of what to do next. Honestly, it wouldn't be that bad if not for the smell of urine-soaked garbage that seemed to permeate New York's finest alleyways, making his already-nauseous stomach churn.

 

Peter continued to press his hands over the wound, but felt his heart sink as the pressure did seemingly nothing to stop the blood from soaking his suit.

 

It was deep, then.

 

Right. He had watched enough Grey's Anatomy with May to know that if he didn’t stop it soon he'd go into hypo-something shock, which caused dizziness (check), nausea (check), and confusion (not yet, but there was still time)-- plus he could experience sepsis if his intestines had been punctured, and _oh god_ that one lady had died of the hiccups and this is so much worse than that he's gonna die he's gonna die he's gon--

 

"Peter," K.A.R.E.N chirped brightly in his ear, causing the boy to jump slightly and proceed to slide further down the side of the dumpster. The last dregs of adrenaline were slipping from his veins and bone-deep exhaustion took their place as he lay on the trash-strewn ground.

 

"You seem to be in significant distress," the A.I continued, "That paired with the severe laceration located in your lower-right quadrant means I'm required to send your vitals to Mr. Stark, per the 'Kiddie Needs A Check-Up' protocol."

 

The blood drained from Peter's face (and he didn’t have much to spare) at the thought of his mentor finding him like this, hiding in an alley because he couldn't make it a block without passing out mid-swing. He had to get up, had to get home.

 

"Peter? Your lack of vocal response is disconcerting, if you don't reply in thirty seconds I will have to call an ambulance."

 

"No!" He hissed through gritted teeth, pain tearing up and down his side as he tried to straighten himself out. "N-no, Karen, I'm alright, really. You don't-- you don't have to call him, or an ambulance, just gimmie a minute and I'll be fine in….in a jiffy."

 

"I'm sorry Peter," and she genuinely did sound sorry, for a robot lady, "but I have been instructed to disregard any commands you may issue at this time, per the 'The Adults Are In Charge Now' section of the protocol. Mr. Stark has asked me to inform you that he is on his way, E.T.A in three minutes."

 

Peter groaned, accepting his fate. If Mr. Stark was gonna see him like this, he was at least going to look as least pathetic as possible. He positioned his hands firmly on the pavement and attempted to drag himself into an upright position.

 

Blinding, searing, scorching hot pain tore through his upper half, causing black spots to dance menacingly on the edges of his vision. He wrenched his mask off and clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, but couldn't stop the whimper that escaped. Alarmed, he glanced at his stomach. A fresh wave of nausea rolled over him at the now too-big scarlet stain flowering around his puncture site. The bleeding hadn't stopped, which meant his healing factor wasn't kicking in, which meant knife-guy got him good, which meant--

 

His panicked half-thoughts were interrupted by the whine of repulsors crescendoing overhead, and the Iron Man suit landed heavily in front of him.

 

 

"Hey there, kiddo." The faceplate flipped up, revealing an apprehensive looking Tony Stark.

 

"You wanna tell me why your entire blood supply is decorating the asphalt of one of New York's most decrepit alleyways?"

 

He kneeled down, metal joints scraping across the concrete as he lowered himself to be at eye-level with his protégé.

 

"Oh, you know," Peter gestured vaguely, "thought I might bleed out for fun. Didn't have anything better to do." His tone was airy, but Tony could tell it was strained. From the looks of it he was barely holding himself together, and Tony could see the beginnings of tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Uh oh. The kid rarely cried.

 

"Alright, Friday. " He stood up. "Deactivate, please."

 

The suit opened and Tony lightly stepped out, arranging his expression into one of reassurance before  quickly kneeling in front of the boy again. Peter's eyes looked distant now, blood loss beginning to pose an imminent threat. He had to get him out of here.

 

"Pete."

 

No response. Tony snapped his fingers.

 

"Hey. Earth to Underoos."

 

He reached an uncertain hand out and gently cupped Peter's chin, lifting it ever so slightly in hopes of rousing the teen from whatever daze he was in. He used his other hand to gently brush away the sweaty curls that were stuck to the kid's forehead. It seemed to do the trick, and Peter blinked a few times, coming back to himself.

 

"There we go, good boy," Tony coaxed. "Lost you for a second, did we? What's going on?"

 

"Yeah, uhm, the thing is… uh.."

 

Peter's mouth opened and closed a few times as he struggled to formulate a witty response, but his brain was too cloudy and he gave up.

 

"I got stabbed." He finished lamely. The older man shuffled closer, inspecting the boy's obvious injury.

 

"Yeah, bud. I can see that."

 

His tone was flippant, but even Tony couldn't hide the fondness in his eyes. It was admirable, adorable really, that even while bleeding freely the kid was still trying to impress him ( _bleeding, right, we gotta go_ ).

 

"Okay," He clapped his hands together and continued. "As nice as it is, we should probably get you out of this dingy back alley. You good with that? Yeah, you're good."

 

Tony moved to gather the kid in his arms, but stopped short as Peter flinched and swatted him away.

 

"Uh, no, you know what, I'm really okay," Peter rambled, wet eyes wide with alarm as he remembered the pain that came with moving.

 

"Really, Mr. Stark, it was nice and all for you to come out here but I--" Peter choked on his words, pain lancing through his body once more. He was frustrated with himself for being stupid enough to get hurt in the first place, for acting like a scared baby in front of his hero, for-- _oh, no, why was his face wet? Is he crying?  Peter, you idiot, you're so--_

 

 

"Heyheyhey, come on, none of that now," Tony murmured, hand hesitating in the space between them before cautiously brushing away the tears that traced down Peter's cheeks. The teen froze in response to the intimate, almost-parental contact. Tony-- thinking he made a mistake -- moved to backtrack, but after a split-second the kid let his eyelids flutter shut and leaned completely into his mentor's palm, face crumpling entirely.

 

"It hurts," he admitted between shaky breaths. And then,

 

"I'm scared."

 

Tony's heart broke. Peter was never one to admit defeat like this. He patted the boy's arm lightly, trying to offer comfort without really knowing how. Peter let out a feeble whimper at the touch.

 

Tony spoke in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

 

"I know, kiddo. It's gonna be okay, I promise." _God, he'd do anything for this kid. Anything._

 

"I'm gonna help you."

 

 

 

 

It took some convincing, but Tony persuaded Peter to let himself be whisked away in his mentor's arms. It had been painful though, and the kid had passed out a few seconds after being jostled around, _thank god._ Tony never wanted to hear screams like that coming out of the teen ever, ever again.

 

The on-call surgeons at the tower had fixed his spiderling right up, citing a perforated abdominal wall and large intestine as the cause for Peter's "discomfort." _Agony,_ he thought bitterly, _was a better word for it._ They then set Peter up in a comfortable post-op room and supplied Tony with a blue plastic chair, which he now resided in. The kid's aunt wouldn't be here for a few more hours and, well, he couldn’t just leave him alone..

 

He spent a few minutes going through emails on his cell, choosing not to respond to any of them and resigning to the earful he was sure to get from Pepper later. Sighing, he pocketed his phone and let his gaze rest on Peter's relatively peaceful face, looking so small and ever so fragile in the hospital bed.

 

A sudden fierce surge of protectiveness rippled through the older man, igniting a fire within him that threatened to burn anybody to a crisp if they so much as looked at Peter the wrong way.

 

Curse that kid for wriggling his way into Tony's heart.

 

He hesitantly moved from his chair to Peter's side, mattress dipping as he perched on the edge of it. Tony stared at him for a few more seconds, before lifting up an unsure hand and lightly resting it atop the spiderling's head.

 

After some more minutes of sitting idly, Tony found himself carding his fingers through the kid's matted hair, carefully combing out the knots that had accumulated from the night's events. He delicately maneuvered, marveling at how natural it all felt. Sitting with Peter, watching over him, caring for him…

 

His fingers continued to move softly through the kid's curls, and the man lost himself in his thoughts.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

"Are you… brushing my hair?"

 

Tony jumped up, jerking his hand back to his side.

 

The kid was awake. The kid was awake and was staring up at him with his big doe eyes and a strange look on his face. Yikes.

 

Tony faltered, and they both started speaking at the same time.

 

"Oh, sorry, I'll just.."

 

"No, you don't have to, uh.."

 

 

Halfway back to his chair, Tony turned around and sighed.

 

"Alright, Underoos. You first."

 

Peter took a breath.

 

"Um, its--it's fine, for you to… uh…. May-- May does that too. When I'm not.. feeling good."

 

Peter's face reddened at the blundered admission, _ugh, he sounded like such a child._ This was so embarrassing. He turned his face away as to avoid his mentor's stare, and was shocked to feel the mattress dip next to him. Even more so when he felt a tentative hand in his hair once again.

 

"Feeling better?" Tony asked quietly.

 

"Yeah," Peter answered quickly, sealing his mouth shut before he embarrassed himself any further. He heard Tony quietly exhale and he squeezed his eyes shut, praying he could just fall asleep again and avoid this whole situation.

 

"Look at me, kid."

 

Peter opened his eyes and turned back towards Tony, watching the man work his jaw as he tried to formulate the right words to say.

 

"I'm not… good at this. The feelings stuff," Tony paused and waved his free hand between them before continuing. "But kiddo, I gotta tell you, when I saw you lying by that dumpster… your blood spilling every which way.." He sniffed, working up the courage to say what came next.

 

"I'm… invested in you, Parker."

 

Another pause.

 

"That means you can't go and get stabbed in random corners of New York and not let me know about it until Karen is _bound by protocol_ to send an alert." Tony looked at the kid pleadingly, hoping he knew to read between the lines, to understand what Tony was really trying to say here. _C'mon Pete, you're smart, you know what I mean._

 

_You're just a kid, you're… my kid._

 

Peter warily studied the man's face for a moment. Suddenly, understanding dawned across his features and his mouth twisted into a small smile. He patted Tony's arm and, nodding, settled back into his pillows and closed his eyes, a slight grin still lighting up his features.

 

"Thanks for being there, Mr. Stark. I… I really appreciate it."

 

Tony slowly let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. _He got the message._

 

"No problem, Pete," he murmured, gingerly sifting his hand through the boy's curls once more.

 

"Anytime."

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, I am by no means a writer, so don't judge this too harshly (haha). Once in a blue moon an idea will pop into my head and make it's way here, hopefully this isn't //too// bad. Leave comments and kudos if you'd like (this feels weird, I know it's a thing people say but it still feels weird asking for it. okay bye)!


End file.
